


Between Friends

by captainschmoop



Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-28
Updated: 2010-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 08:12:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/305749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainschmoop/pseuds/captainschmoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[During Rent] Roger gets himself into very strange situations. Mostly because he doesn't think with his head -- at least, not the right one. Caution: Do Not read the second chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Angel

Angel bobbed her head to music only she could hear as she sauntered up the stairs to the loft. When she arrived at the door, she was all but humming the tune. Upon opening the it, however, she stopped. The tension in the air was seriously dampening her mood.

Looking over to the silver table, she spotted Roger sitting cross-legged with his acoustic resting in his lap; his back was facing her. He was playing a rather slow, somber version of Musetta's Waltz. Angel rolled her eyes. Walking over, she smacked him upside the head.

“Ow!” He growled, a hand going to his head on reflex. “What the fuck – oh... Hi, Angel.” He greeted when he realized his company. The musician turned around fully, still cradling his guitar, a blank expression on his face.

“Roger! You could show a little more excitement when you see me.” A snort was the reply. Angel sighed. “Really, that sullen mood effects a girl's attitude. Brighten up!” She smiled, raising her arms in the air.

Roger rolled his eyes. “I'll cheer up as soon as I see a girl around.” He almost smirked when Angel pretended to be insulted. Almost.

Angel flipped her long, blond hair. Roger briefly found himself wondering why his friend was wearing her Pussy Galore wig today... though it did look good on her. “Hon, you know I'm all woman!” She twirled to show off her outfit. She was wearing a plastic, bright green short dress (it looked like it could have been an old shower curtain to Roger) and newspaper print stockings. She stopped and struck a pose. Nice.

Roger sighed, clearly irritated. “Why are you here?” He asked, scooting away from the cheery drag queen. Bad move. Angel took this as an invitation to sit. Roger inwardly groaned. He just wanted to be left alone.

As she plopped herself on the table, she replied. “Collins and I had a fight, so I thought I'd come hang with my favorite boho boys.” She spoke in her same preppy tone, causally letting one leg hang off to the side of the table. Roger quirked an eyebrow.

“Well, Mark's not here... Wait. You're happy about it?” He asked incredulously. Angel chuckled as she smiled warmly at him.

“Of course not, but it'll pass. We just need a little time away from each other.” At the disbelieving stare she was given, she continued. “I know it's hard to believe, but we do have a few relationship problems of our own.” Roger huffed.

“My ass you do...” Angel smacked him again. “Why do you keep doing that?” He growled, rubbing the side of his head.

“Why are you in such a pissy mood?” She countered. The musician didn't make to answer, instead glaring at a particular spot on the couch. Angel followed his gaze until she spotted a black jacket. “Ah, I should've known she was the cause. What happened this time, honey?” She gently rested her hand on his shoulder. Roger tensed at the contact.

Shrugging her hand off, he replied. “Nothing. I don't want to talk about it.” He jumped off the table. Drop the subject already... But of course, he was never that lucky.

“Roger,” she warned, “don't bottle things up.” She turned, following Roger's movements as he gently laid his guitar on the couch.

“Angel... I'm serious.” You have no idea.

“Just talk to me. Words between friends, is that so hard?” Yes. Extremely.

“I'm warning you...” He stood in front of her and the table now. A staring contest had begun. “Don't make me do something you won't like...” Or that I'll regret. Back down.

“What would you do? Not tell me anything?” Angel snorted, still not breaking eye contact. “Talk to me or some – hey –!” Roger grabbed her wrists and yanked her into a fierce kiss. Angel gasped in surprise, allowing Roger to thrust his tongue into her mouth, rough and dominant. An involuntary shiver went up Angel's spine. After a moment, they broke apart. Angel was flushed and breathless.

The corner of Roger's lips twitched a bit in a would-be smirk as he turned to leave. That's when he felt a tug on his shirt. He paused in his movements. Well, _this_ could get dangerous. Roger doesn't want to be there, doesn't want _her_ to be there. All he wants is to be left alone. Why can't anyone ever give him that? Knowing nothing good would come out of it, he turned around.

Damn it all! He nearly groaned at the sight before him. There she was, face flushed, lips bruised and wet, panting slightly with a growing sign of arousal. He could _see_ it in her eyes. Worse, he could feel it himself. He wasn't suppose to feel this way toward her, toward Angel. But he was. As she gently tugged on his shirt, Roger moved. Fuck it.

Their lips crashed together, Roger completely claiming Angel's mouth. Her hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. Angel moaned when a hand found her panties, roughly ripping them off. Fuck, this is _really_ dangerous. He's teasing her cock with one hand, his calloused fingers sending jolts throughout her entire body. She's moaning softly, her breath hitching when Roger began to suck and bite at her neck.

He pulled her back by her hair suddenly, almost yanking the blonde wig off. She whimpered from the loss of contact and slight pain. Roger then placed his index finger of his free hand before her mouth. “Suck it.” Angel hesitated before taking it in her mouth. Her tongue ran along the sides in circular motions before she began hollowing out her cheeks to take it in fully. God, her mouth is hot and wet and Roger could only imagine what it would be like around his growing erection.

With his other hand, Roger pushed Angel roughly down, completely parallel with the table. Angel moaned loudly when Roger entered her with his makeshift lubed finger. He stretched her, probing for _that_ spot, the one that will make her scream. And scream she did; he found it. Roger looked over the beautiful creature laid out before him. She was panting hard, her golden hair sticking to her nicely flushed face, her hands clutching the edges of the table tightly, her hips rolling to meet Roger's finger, and, fuck, it was too much. He didn't care anymore. He wanted her _now_.

Both Angel and Roger groan when he pushes his cock into her. A string of Spanish flows from Angel's mouth, but he doesn't care. He grabs her hips tightly, roughly, knowing that there would be bruises later. He thrusts into her, making sure to hit that one spot every time. God, it felt so good being inside her. He reaches for her swollen member and starts to pump in time with his thrusts. Angels moans louder, arching off the table as Roger renders her senseless.

Roger blames Mimi for this, for fucking that guy in some bar, as he leans over and claims Angel's neck with kisses and bites. He blames April for this, for bringing him young boys with pretty faces for a quick blow job or fuck after a performance, as Angel wraps her legs around Roger's waist. He even blames Mark for this, for not telling him no on those _few_ occasions, as Angel grasps fistfuls of his shirt and hair. Most of all, Roger blames himself for allowing it, for getting lost in their pants and moans, for enjoying the way Angel cries out in release, for letting the sound and feeling send him over the edge.

Roger didn't move for a few seconds, allowing both of them to catch their breath. He just laid there on top of Angel, breathing in her scent. She softly ran her fingers through his hair. He shook his head, pulling himself up off her. She gazed at him, a trace of pink in her cheeks. Damn it. Way to go, Davis. He has to say something, anything, or the silence would kill him. There's a first.

“Angel...” he sighed. He was cut off, however, by the sound of the door opening. Angel and Roger froze. Oh God...

The door shut and a soft thud was heard. “Hey, Roger, you awa...” A gasp was then emitted. Roger closed his eyes in a slight relief. It's Mark... it's only Mark. “Um... I'll... I'll be in my room...” Hurried footsteps were sounded as Mark quickly left the two alone. Good ol' Mark.

“Sweetie, mind if I clean myself up?” Angel's voice startled Roger out of his thoughts. He looked down and seemed to just realize their position. He tenderly pulled himself out, fighting off a blush. Rockers do _not_ blush! ...He was losing the battle. She smiled as she picked up her panties, her only clothing that was discarded, and made her way to the bathroom. The musician then looked down at himself and sighed.

Roger lazily walked into his bedroom. He stripped out of his now sticky clothes and put on the nearest sweats he could find. He was about to go back out when he heard the bathroom door open. Man, this sucks. He took a breath and walked out of his room.

“Hey, hon.” Angel greeted. Her clothes were neater and her wig wasn't askew. That was fast. Must be a drag queen thing. She smiled sweetly at him. Ugh.

“Angel...” he started, rubbing the back of his neck. Damn, what the hell do I say? A chuckle emitted from Angel's mouth..

“You don't have to say anything, Roger.” Good. “After all, it was just words between friends, right?” Roger eyed her warily. Oh, what the hell.

“Yeah, whatever.” Angel giggled as she made her way to the door.

Stopping suddenly, she yelled, “See ya later, Mark!” The drag queen turned to wink at Roger, earning her an eye roll in return. Just as Angel left, Mark resurfaced from his room.

The roommates froze, staring at each other. Well... this could go bad. Mark was the first to move. “Uh,” he cleared his throat, “you know... if Collins finds out he'll kick your ass, right?”

Roger paled slightly. Fuck. “You're not gonna tell him, are you?” He was slightly pleading with his roommate. Mark was silent for a moment before smiling. Roger paled even more. Oh shit...

“Don't play Musetta's Waltz for a month, and you got yourself a deal.” Bastard.

“Fine.” Mark smiled triumphantly. Roger glared. “Jew.”

Mark rolled his eyes. “Slut.” Roger shrugged as he grabbed his guitar. Let's see if a song can come out from _this_.


	2. Collins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger's actions have consequences. He just doesn't know how he feels about them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turn back while you can.

Roger walked into the loft and immediately knew something was up. What the hell? He peered over to Mark's room. “Mark, you here?” He made to move when a voice startled him.

“That boy ain't here.” Roger slowly turned to face the owner of that deep voice. Collins.

The anarchist was sitting on their beat up couch, slouched, arms stretched over the back and legs sprawled out in front of him. His black capped head was resting on the couch's back, his gleaming eyes gazing at Roger and a devilish grin on his lips. And he was wearing... a choker, a thick black choker. Oh shit...

“Collins...” The musician greeted hesitantly. He has that grin; that is _not_ good. “Where's Mark?” Just don't show fear...

“Out filming some event in the park, said he'd be home after eleven.” He smirked. Oh shit. Oh _shit_. Roger tried to recall what time it was. Let's see... Mimi just left for work so that makes it... Roger paled slightly. It was after six.

He cleared his throat. “So, what brings you, Thomas?” Roger still didn't move. He just stared at Collins, trying not to tremble.

Collins sat up straighter, though he was still slouching. His grin, that damn, devilish, I-know-a-secret grin, was still draped across his lips. Roger was always fascinated by it but now was simply unnerved. “Well, you see, I got wind of some interesting news.” His eyes had a mischievous glimmer in them.

Oh God... Roger tried to take a subtle breath to calm himself. Did Mark tell? Did Angel? They wouldn't right? Fuck. Shrug it off, Davis. “If it's related to how you think I'm somehow in love with my best friend, I don't think it's interesting.” Good, just pretend nothing happened. It's worked before, right? ...Crap. “You've been barking up that tree since I brought Mark here.”

Collins' grin widened, showing off his pearly whites. Roger was briefly reminded of that damned cat in that Wonderland story. “No, it's not.” He chuckled. “But that _is_ true.” Roger actually managed to roll his eyes. “No, what I'm talking about happened 'bout two weeks ago.” He gracefully stood up and narrowed his eyes a little, making his grin seem sinister. “Know what I'm saying?” It was a challenge.

Roger froze. Oh, holy fuck. His heart pounded within his chest. Roger had always made it a point not to cross Collins. He remembered when Benny did once. The following day, the soon-to-be yuppie was exhausted, jumpy, and refused eye contact. He wouldn't reply when asked what happened, only making little whimpering noises, and Collins would only shrug, that same grin dancing on his lips.

Roger nearly jumped out of his skin when Collins grabbed his shoulder. He gazed fearfully into the chocolate brown eyes that were suddenly in front of him. Dear God...

“That's right,” Collins smirked as he tightened his grip, making Roger wince, “be afraid, bitch.” The anarchist roughly shoved Roger toward the couch. The blonde stumbled, almost fell when the back of his legs touched the couch.

“Wha...?” was all he could manage before Collins yanked his shirt over his head. For a few terrifying seconds, Roger couldn't see what Collins was doing. Then finally, he was able to blink his vision into focus. When he tried to move his arms, he found that his wrists were tied behind his back with the very shirt Collins had just taken off him. How the _fuck_ did he _do_ that? Collins pushed him down.

The anarchist towered over him, his grin – that _fucking_ grin – taunting. Roger became vividly aware that he was without a shirt as Collins peered over him through half-lidded eyes. The blonde swallowed.

“Collins,” his managed quietly, though his voice trembled, “what's going...” He didn't finish, for Collins had started to gently slide his hands down the sides of Roger's body. The musician shivered at the unusual sensation those fingers created. Slowly, Collins' hands stopped at Roger's hips and then abruptly seized them, causing Roger to wince in pain. Fuck, he has a strong grip.

“Now, now, baby.” Roger's head snapped to the doorway in shock. “Don't be too rough with him... yet.” Angel sauntered toward her lover. “After all,” she smiled mischievously, “it's his first time.”

Roger's mind didn't register her words; it was too busy taking in Angel's appearance. Her wig was golden, cropped short and messy just below her earlobes, and a thick choker adorned her neck. He noted that the chocker was similar to Collins', which didn't bode well. Angel smiled at him, her ruby red lips full and enticing. Roger froze, completely dazzled by the look in her eyes. Oh. Dear. _Christ._

Collins forgot his grip on the musician, much to Roger's relief, and walked behind the smiling Angel. He immediately grabbed her ass, attacking her neck and causing Angel to bite her lip, a smirk forming. Collins' hands traveled all over her body, one stopping on her stomach, the other her crotch. He pulled her closer to him, gaining a moan from her red lips.

Angel turned around, claiming Collins' lips fiercely. One of her long legs rose to wrap around the anarchist's waist, grinding against him. Roger's eyes widened. Please tell me they are _not_ doing this in front of me. Collins groaned as Angel bit his neck, still grinding against the seductress.

Roger couldn't move; the sight had frozen him to his place on the couch. One of his best friends and his girlfriend were going at it right in front of him! Somewhere between the grinding and the necking, Angel had managed to unbutton Collins' shirt, revealing his decently toned chest. Roger did not remember his former roommate being that, well... that _hot_. Where the fuck did that come from?

Roger was brought out of his thought of his friend's hot ass chest by the sound of a zipper. Angel was now on her knees undoing Collins' pants, revealing his erect cock. Roger's eyes widened. Holy shit, he's huge! Angel smiled devilishly before licking the head. Oh God. Roger tried adverting his eyes elsewhere, resting on Collins' face, but that was a mistake.

Collins was looking right at him, a grin Roger never seen before on his lips. Collins' hand traveled to Angel's head, grabbing a fistful of hair. Roger watched as Collins delighted in the way Angel licked and sucked his cock, gently guiding her with his hand. Entranced, Roger could not take his eyes of Collins as Angel continued to use her tongue in skillful ways.

Then suddenly, Angel pulled away and broke free of Collins' grasp. Roger thought the anarchist would protest, but he just stood there, a grin on his face and his eyes on Roger. Angel sauntered toward the bound blonde, a very seductive look on her face.

Collins followed, eyeing Roger with a devilish smirk. The musician's heart beat quickened as he looked into chocolate brown, lustful eyes. The anarchist was watching him the whole time. He knew that Roger was getting aroused by the situation. He looked down at the blonde, that smirk, that _leer_ still in place. Roger knew he knew. He should not be so turned on by that thought!

Roger jumped when he felt Angel undoing his pants. Roger held his breath as she smiled seductively at him. They stood that way for a while. Then, Roger gasped.

Angel had grabbed him rather forcefully. She brought her hand to her lips, sucking on her index and middle fingers. Once she was done, she grinned at Roger, a strange glimmer in her eyes. Oh shit. Angel brought her fingers down to Roger's ass. Roger eyed her nervously. “Relax.” Angel cooed.

Roger groaned when she entered him. Angel smiled as she added a third finger already, stretching him as best she could. Roger bit his lip as he felt Angel's fingers scissor within him. He noticed Collins grin as Roger panted, a hungry look in his eyes. Angel nodded to herself after a while, pleased at Roger's eager hole.

“Have at him, honey.” Angel turned to Collins after giving Roger's semi-hard cock a quick kiss. Roger gazed fearfully at the anarchist as he neared the blonde. Collins sat down next to the quivering musician, that grin plastered on his face. He slowly reached over to Roger and gently pulled him into his lap. Roger groaned as Collins rubbed his erect cock against his own. The anarchist then positioned Roger above his solid erection.

With painfully slow movements, Collins brought his mouth to Roger's ear. “I'm gonna make you scream.” Roger's eyes widened. Holy shit. Then, Collins entered him, quick and hard. Roger groaned, adjusting to the size of Collins' dick. Oh holy _fuck_.

Roger was panting now as Collins slowly ground into him. He looked up at Angel as she stroked her cock, excitement in her eyes as Collins moved inside him. Roger moaned aloud as Collins moved gently in and out of the musician. Roger found himself rolling his hips against Collins'. He wanted more. And Collins knew it. The bastard knew it! Roger's breath was haggard, and his heart was pounding in his ears. He wanted Collins to go faster, to go harder, but he wouldn't. And Roger knew why. The bastard wanted him to say it. He wouldn't. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

“More...” Roger found himself moaning. Oh hell, fuck it. “Fuck – more!” He heard Collins chuckle as he bit the blonde's neck. Roger felt hands grasp his hips and raise him. Then, those hands pulled him down on that deliciously huge cock. Roger moaned louder as Collins hit that spot, that _fucking_ _sweet_ spot. Collins moved, repositioning them so that Roger was on his knees, Collins holding him up by his tied wrists.

“Fuck! Faster!” Roger groaned, his head bowing in pleasure as Collins rammed into him. “Harder! Please, God, more!” Collins kept on ramming him, hitting that one spot each time. Roger felt he was going to pass out from the pleasure. It felt so fucking good. He winced when Angel forcefully grabbed his hair and yanked his head up. He panted as she brought her cock to his lips. Eagerly, like a famished beast, he took her in his mouth. Angel led the way, her hands never leaving his hair.

Roger didn't need to be told twice. He wanted this. He wanted Collins to fuck him hard while he moaned like some ten dollar whore. He wanted to suck Angel off, to hear her groan with pleasure. He wanted this _so_ much.

But he found that he didn't want it from them. Roger found himself wanting it from _Mark_. He wanted _Mark_ to be the one to smack his ass as he pound onto that sweet spot, not Collins. He wanted _Mark's_ cock and taste as he hallowed out his cheeks to take it in fully, not Angel's. He wanted _Mark_. Oh God...!

Picturing Mark doing all these things to him, fucking him raw, making him suck his dick, being brutally aggressive, was too much for Roger to handle. He released Angel's cock as he panted, moaning with each thrust sent to him. He knew he sounded like some dumb slut, begging for more, but he didn't care. Angel had started to pump herself in time with Collins' thrusts. Roger could feel his muscles tighten around Collins.

In his mind, Collins was no longer there. Just Mark. So when Collins spoke, Roger heard Mark telling him, “Come for me, you little bitch!” That was it. With a great cry, Roger came. Very. Hard. His release sent Collins over the edge, spilling his seed inside of Roger. The sight before her made Angel bit her lip as she too climaxed, coming over Roger's face.

Roger panted heavily, slowing coming down from his electrifying high. Collins pulled out of him, allowing some cum to trickle out of Roger's worn hole. He rolled Roger over, looking down at the pathetic creature breathing haggardly, legs spread open, eager still. He watched with a smirk as Roger licked some of Angel's cum off his face.

He and Angel turned to each other and smiled. They didn't fail to notice what name their lovely toy cried out in the heat of passion. Angel chuckled as she untied his wrists. Roger just laid there, still recovering from their little tirade. He didn't even notice when the devil couple left.

Gingerly, he sat up, wincing slightly. Great, I'll be sore for a week now. Damn Collins. As he cleaned up, he decided not to mention what had happened to anyone, not even Collins and Angel. Recalling his delusional state of mind during the deed, Roger blushed. He did not believe he let that happen. What's more, he did not believe he thought of _Mark_. It's _Mark_ , for fuck's sake! He wouldn't do any of that stuff. And that's what saddened Roger most.

Roger stopped moving, realizing what he just thought. “Well, fuck...”


End file.
